


everything stays right where you left it

by glueskin



Series: ffxiv hell [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Developing Relationships, Drabble Collection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Past Child Abuse, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Recovery, Referenced canonical character death, Sign Language, mute character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-09 14:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19889416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glueskin/pseuds/glueskin
Summary: everything stays, but it still changes - ever so slightly, daily and nightly in little ways.drabble collection for pieces featuring my warriors of light throughout the events of shadowbringers. god i wish i had the time and energy to write a whole novelization, but alas.





	1. dreams and memories

**Author's Note:**

> so......shadowbringers. how about that.
> 
> title from everything stays...yes the adventure time song. tags are tentative and will update over time; character tags will also be updated for anyone who is actually featured and says words instead of just peacing out in the bg.

In the room provided for them in the Pendants, Acatae’a dreams a memory.  
  
After Ardbert’s visit he had expected more restlessness. Maybe a nightmare about those lost—and in a way his dreams of Mor Dhona with its crystalline wastes and his old friend are just that.  
  
G’raha Tia in his dream looks as Acatae’a saw him last. Both eyes redder than his hair, shadows darkening the skin beneath them as he smiles with exhaustion. He speaks, but Acatae’a can’t remember what his voice sounds like, only that he had enjoyed listening to him.  
  
Still, Acatae’a remembers what he had said that day. He could never forget the way G’raha had looked at him, so small in the vast doorway of the Tower.  
  
_Forgive me this last moment of selfishness,_ he had said, and Acatae’a hadn’t understood until G’raha had placed a hand on his elbow. They were the same height, or near enough, and so it had been an easy thing for G’raha to kiss him.  
  
Just once. Just once, G’raha had pressed their mouths together in a chaste kiss. His mouth had been dry and warm. Acatae’a had wanted to grab him close and keep him there, in that moment, forever. But he couldn’t.  
  
He’d never hated not having a voice as much as he had in that moment. Acatae’a wanted to tell him, _me too. I feel it too, I’m glad it wasn’t just me_ —  
  
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even use his hands, because G’raha had shoved him out of the Tower doorway. His red eyes had been damp in the dim evening sun as he smiled despite looking so sad, the darkness of the interior swallowing him up as the doors sealed themselves shut.  
  
_Sorry_ , he had mouthed as the gilded Tower doors slammed shut, and Acatae’a wanted to scream. Had tried, even, to yell his name—just once, to say it with his own voice, but all he had succeeded in doing was hurting himself.  
  
He wakes up in the present, cold sweat clinging to his skin and making his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin. Why had he dreamed of such a thing _now?_ He thought he had long made peace with what could have been, back then. He supposes the sight of the Crystal Tower here in the First could have caused it, but...  
  
Akhar makes a sleepy noise next to him; he turns on his side, seeing them struggling to blink open their eyes.  
  
“Okay?” They ask in a tired whisper, voice hoarse from sleep. Acatae’a mouths _just a dream_ , shifting closer, and Akhar lifts an arm to tug him close.  
  
He lets them, unable to be embarrassed by the comfort he feels when Akhar presses their face into his hair.  
  
“‘s okay,” they murmur sleepily against his hair. “We’ll find ‘em…’n get home…”  
  
Acatae’a lets himself grip their tunic, pressing his face into their neck and feeling his eyes grow damp. He doesn’t let himself think further on the dream—not now. Maybe later he will; maybe he’ll tell Akhar about it.  
  
For now, he lets himself drift back to sleep as Akhar hums the faint notes of an old lullaby their mother used to sing.  
  
This time, he doesn’t dream.


	2. five years or six weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> takes place in il mheg after arriving at uriangers place

Urianger wanted to show Acatae’a a specific book. Truth, Akhar knows, but also an excuse; they haven’t had the opportunity to be alone with Thancred since they escaped to Il Mheg, and so their friend had graciously provided one.  
  
Thancred looks at a loss—as though he isn’t sure what to say, gaze flickering between a back room where Urianger had gone to with Acatae’a, and back towards Akhar.  
  
They can’t imagine it. Five years for him, but only a few weeks for them—it still doesn’t feel like the truth even though they know it is.  
  
There’s too much to say. Akhar wants to talk about the child called Minfilia, about Thancred’s expression of grief and love every time he looks at her despite the way he seems to try to remain emotionally distant. About everything he’s seen and done in his years here.  
  
First, though, they try to smile. It probably doesn’t work very well.  
  
“I’m sorry I took so long,” they say, and Thancred looks surprised.  
  
“You—Akhar, do not be _sorry_ ,” he says. “It was beyond control. I…” he hesitates, glancing not in the direction Urianger and Acatae’a are in, but towards the front door. With no sign of Minfilia in sight, he shifts closer to them, fingers brushing against their bare wrist.  
  
“‘Tis good to see you,” he says quietly, almost in a whisper, and though Akhar isn’t sure why he’s trying to be _discreet_ for once, their smile comes easier this time as they catch Thancred’s fingers in their own.  
  
“And you, my dear,” they murmur back, relief welling up in their chest and bleeding into their tone. Five years is a long time—a year had been difficult enough for them both, but five?  
  
Part of Akhar had wondered if things would have changed too much. If Thancred would look down at them and feel none of what he had before, but given the expression on his face, their worries had been unfounded.  
  
They want to kiss him. The desire to do so is so overwhelming it almost hurts, but he’s clearly trying to refrain from doing much right now—perhaps the child doesn’t know about them. It would make sense for him to want to tell her rather than let her see by mistake.  
  
Still, they can’t resist at least lifting Thancred’s hand, pressing their mouth to the back of his bare fingers in lieu of his leather-covered knuckles.  
  
“ _Akhar_ ,” he hisses, and they smile against the skin before lowering their joined hands again. The faint flush of embarrassment he has is familiarly endearing; he glances about again, and deciding that they’re apparently safe, he lifts his other hand to their shoulder and leans down to catch their mouth in a quick, chaste kiss.  
  
“We shall talk properly,” he says after, ears still burning, “When we have more time.”  
  
“Good,” Akhar says, pleased. Thancred’s eyes catch on the satisfied sway of their tail and his expression eases into a soft smile.  
  
A doorknob turns, then, and Akhar’s ears twitch at the sound. Acatae’a and Urianger return, Acatae’a looking as pleased as Akhar feels at the sight of their hand in Thancred’s. Neither he or Urianger comment on it, however, and Thancred gives their fingers a gentle squeeze without letting go.  
  
To Akhar’s surprise, Thancred keeps their hands together even when Minfilia returns some minutes later—he doesn’t let go even in the face of the young girls surprise, but though she looks stunned, she says nothing about it as she gives Thancred the bag of cartridges she had been enchanting.  
  
Thancred's smile when he accepts them doesn't obscure the hurt that lingers in his gaze at the sight of her. Akhar swallows, knowing they'll have to bring it up—and soon.


	3. important conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> akhar has a talk with thancred about a certain child in his care
> 
> takes place after the events of il mheg and the squads return to the crystarium
> 
> theres also references to wol backstory here - that is, akhar and acatae'a's parents. to clarify in case of confusion when reading, they had two fathers and a mother. it happens sometimes

As Emet-Selch takes his leave of them after his abrupt appearance in the Crystarium, Akhar neglects to go directly to the room they share with Acatae’a at the inn.  
  
Instead, they keep Thancred close with a tight grip on his wrist as Urianger and Minfilia make their way towards the Tower to speak to the Exarch. Thancred blinks down at them, surprised, and Akhar glances towards Acatae’a.  
  
“We need to talk,” they say. “Can you wait a bit before coming back to the room?”  
  
_“Sure,”_ Acatae’a signs. _“I need to check the Cabinet for a few references, anyway. Take your time.”_  
  
Akhar rolls their eyes at the suggestive way Acatae’a frames his words, tugging Thancred towards the long winding stairs near the Aetheryte.  
  
“I thought we were going to do this on the morrow,” Thancred says with confusion, allowing himself to be pulled along. Akhar slides their grip from his wrist down towards his hand, slipping their fingers through his as they walk.  
  
“It's about Minfilia,” they say and he immediately picks up a more brisk pace.  
  
They’re both quiet until they arrive. The innkeep looks at them both with raised eyebrows, taking in Acatae’a’s absence and Thancred’s hand in Akhar’s with thinly veiled amusement. Gods, Akhar wishes it were like that right now.  
  
Ardbert, waiting in the room, takes one wide-eyed look at them both before making himself scarce. Good man.  
  
“Is something wrong with her?” Is the first thing Thancred asks when Akhar closes the door behind them. There’s genuine concern in his voice and his expression—love, too, Akhar knows. Not for the Minfilia he still grieves for, but for this girl with her name.  
  
They’d intended to talk about this eventually with him, just not so soon. The expression Thancred wears when he looks at Minfilia is a familiar one—one Akhar saw on the faces of their father and Mama often, in the wake of their Papa’s death. How they would look to them and Acatae’a with love and grief both, seeing the pieces of the lover they lost.  
  
It’s the same. Akhar had wanted to give things more time before bringing it up, but.  
  
Minfilia’s words still echo in their head. The misery in her voice when she said _he can’t stand to look at me_.  
  
“She’s...fine,” Akhar says, and it’s sort of true. Physically, Minfilia is in fine health. Thancred waits for them to say more, knowing that isn’t all.  
  
“She said something to me,” they admit, letting go of his hand to move to sit at the edge of the bed. Thancred follows, frowning as he sits at their side.  
  
“And this something was concerning, I take it,” Thancred says. Akhar nods, dragging a hand down their face as they try to find the words for it without sounding accusatory.  
  
There is no way.  
  
“She thinks,” Akhar starts, pauses, and tries again. “I know you weren’t trying to make her feel this way. I need you to know I know that. But she told me you only keep her around as…as a contingency. In case the Exarch failed to bring us here.”  
  
Thancred’s stricken expression says it all. He looks almost sick at the thought, lifting a hand to his mouth and hunching his shoulders as he takes in their words with wide eyes.  
  
“She also said you can’t stand to look at her,” Akhar says quietly. Twisting the knife, they know, but it’s something he needs to hear. They tentatively place a hand against his white-clothed back and though he stiffens slightly he doesn’t move away.  
  
“Thancred,” they whisper. “I know you didn’t mean to. But you’ve been caring for her for three years—”  
  
“And I thought I had been doing a decent job,” he rasps out. He shakes under their hand, looking furious and sickened with himself both. “I was never—I never thought I would be looking after someone so young. Especially not someone who,” he sucks in a deep breath, voice thick with feeling, and Akhar presses into his side.  
  
“I know,” they say, because they do. Thancred had told them long ago that he has no memories of his parents—at least, none worth recalling. The sound of glass breaking, of yelling, the fact he looks more like his mother than his father. As a teacher, Louisoix was the closest thing to a father he had, and so Thancred has no frame of reference for child-rearing.  
  
All things considered, Akhar thinks he’s done pretty well. While the situation is only somewhat comparable, their father had left in the months following their Papa’s death. He had simply vanished, coming back once in a while and never staying long before leaving again, and so it fell only to their Mama to raise them and their brother.  
  
Akhar can’t resent him for it. Not anymore. But Thancred, at least, took Minfilia from her captives and has been _trying_ to be a stable and constant presence in her life.  
  
“I hate it,” Thancred mutters, lifting his other hand to bury his face into his palms. “I hate it, Akhar. I hate myself for this. I look at her and I want her to be—to be Minfilia, and then I want to throw up because she’s _not_ and it’s not fair to her and I want her to be whoever she wants, but I—”  
  
Akhar waits. Thancred lowers his hands, looking worse than they can remember seeing him in a long, long time.  
  
“I am a terrible person,” he finally says, and Akhar presses closer still, sliding their arm around his middle and pressing their face to his arm.  
  
“You aren’t. You feel bad, don’t you? Guilty? If you were so terrible, you wouldn’t care how you treat her. But you do. And you’ll do better.”  
  
“You sound so sure,” he mutters, slouching in their grip. “What if I can’t be more than this?”  
  
“You can,” Akhar says confidently, lifting their head enough to look at him. “Because you won’t be doing it alone this time.”  
  
Thancred looks surprised. Akhar thought it an obvious thing, but maybe it wasn’t, and they smile at him.  
  
“You know what people will say,” Thancred says cautiously. Akhar's smiles turns helpless. They know what it looks like, of course. Akhar never particularly wanted children—never expected to care for one, whether it be one of their own or someone else’s. Alphinaud and Alisaie were as close as they would get, they thought, but…  
  
“I know,” they say. Somehow they don’t mind the thought of being mistaken as a parent. Thancred looks at them, considering.  
  
“Five years,” he says. “It was enough for me to get used to it—three I have spent with her, trying despite my shortcomings. It was only a few weeks for you. How can you be so ready to raise a child?”  
  
“I’m not,” Akhar admits. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not willing. You weren’t ready, either—not emotionally, even if you were in other ways. But I think...we’ll be fine.”  
  
“You’ve thought about it,” he murmurs wonderingly. They flush because it’s true—since they had laid eyes on Minfilia and saw how young she was, and then how Thancred had looked at her. It had been an easy choice to make.  
  
“How could I not? I still want you. You’re...I made my choice a long time ago. I would have understood if you hadn’t waited for me,” Akhar says, dropping their gaze with embarrassment. “Five years is a long time. But if you still—feel the same, then—of course. We do this together.”  
  
A hand touches their jaw, urging them to look up, and so Akhar does; Thancred’s expression soft enough to make their heart ache with affection.  
  
“Whatever I might have done to deserve you, I am glad of it,” he says gently, and Akhar can’t help but smile as they lift a hand to touch his wrist, tail thudding down against the bedding with how pleased they are.  
  
“So am I,” they say, and he kisses them for the first time since that brief moment in the Bookman’s Shelves; alone in this room, they can allow it to become more than that swift, chaste press of their mouths from before, and so they do.  
  
If Acatae’a comes back some time later and immediately reroutes himself towards the bar outside, well. Akhar paying his tab for the night will be sufficient apology—or so they hope.


	4. sleeping arrangements and out of place birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set the day after ch 3 so still post-il mheg, pre-rak'tika
> 
> acatae'a when will you Real Eyes your almost lover g'raha tia is right there

Before meeting with the others to make their way to Rak’tika, Acatae’a instead makes his way back towards the Crystal Tower after finishing with stocking his supplies.  
  
He has a question that needs to be asked, but it wasn’t one he was going to bring up in front of not only the kids but also Emet-Selch.  
  
Alphinaud is just descending the stairs as Acatae’a arrives, catching sight of him with surprise.  
  
“Acatae’a! I thought you would have been gone by now. Is aught amiss?” He asks, sounding concerned, and Acatae’a shakes his head with a fond smile.  
  
_“I just wanted to ask the Exarch something before we go,”_ he signs. Alphinaud looks relieved.  
  
“Is that so? Then I shall not keep you—I must needs attend my own supplies for the trip to Kholusia. Take care on the way to the Greatwood, will you? And be sure to give Y’shtola my regards,” he adds.  
  
_“Of course. You stay safe in Kholusia, too. I’ve no doubt they still have an eye out for us,”_ he signs, and Alphinaud gives an embarrassed sort of laugh.  
  
“I...yes, they probably do. I shall remain on my guard, no worries—and we shall see each other again before long, I am sure.”  
  
Acatae’a gives a swift sign of affirmation, smiling and reaching to ruffle Alphinaud’s hair; the boy grumbles but suffers through it in lieu of a more Miqo’te goodbye.  
  
He doesn’t mind as much as he pretends, anyway, given the way he fights an embarrassed smile. Acatae’a is dearly tempted to take his face and nuzzle his hair instead, the way he would Akhar or another of his kind, but refrains.  
  
After parting ways with Alphinaud once more, Acatae’a finishes the steep climb to the tower. The guard just waves him in with a smile, recognizing him at once.  
  
The Crystal Exarch is there, of course; his hood still—disappointingly—up, staff not in hand but resting in the crook of his arm as reads over what Acatae’a thinks must be the letter from Eulmore.  
  
He looks up at the sound of someone entering, though, mouth parting slightly in surprise when he sees who it is.  
  
“Warrior? I had not expected to see you again so soon,” he says, bewildered concern in his voice, and not for the first time Acatae’a fights a frown.  
  
He’s heard the Exarch address Akhar by name. Never him, though. He wonders why but finds it difficult to ask.  
  
_“I just wanted to talk to you about something before we left,”_ Acatae’a signs. _“Nothing’s wrong.”_  
  
The Exarch looks relieved, at least as far as Acatae’a can tell. It’s not easy reading someone’s expression when all you can see of them is their mouth.  
  
“Is that so? In that case, I am all ears,” he says as he folds the letter in his hands, slipping it back into its envelope.  
  
_“I hate to impose, but do you know if there are any other rooms available at the Pendants? Or somewhere else,”_ Acatae’a adds. The Exarch frowns, shifting to take his staff in his crystalized hand once more.  
  
“Is there something wrong with your current accommodations? Ah, your sibling did mention something about a haunting…” the Exarch sounds rather perturbed at the notion, making Acatae’a smile.  
  
_“The room itself is fine. You probably didn’t know, but Thancred and Akhar are…”_ he doesn’t finish signing the sentence, letting his own somewhat embarrassed expression at the memory of what he’d overheard last night speak for him. The Exarch stares at him—or in his direction, at least, and slowly lifts his flesh hand to cover his mouth.  
  
“Oh dear,” he murmurs, muffled slightly by his own fingers. “I was...unaware that they were... _involved_ ,” he says, sounding more flustered at the notion than Acatae’a would have expected.  
  
_“It wouldn’t be an issue, usually,”_ Acatae’a signs with a shrug. _“But they’ve been apart for a long time, at least on Thancred’s end. I want them to have what privacy they can.”_  
  
“That is quite considerate of you,” the Exarch says, sounding more controlled. “As well as understandable. I will try to do what I can while you are away—I am afraid I may not have much time to try and arrange things, but I shall ask the innkeep and see about any free spaces with the Guard’s barracks.”  
  
_“Thank you,”_ Acatae’a signs, exaggerating the relief in his expression to get the gratitude across. _“I really appreciate it. If you can’t find anything, don’t worry about it. We can work something out.”_  
  
“Even so, you may rest assured I will do what I can,” the Exarch says. “Was there anything else? Are you well supplied for your trip?”  
  
_“I have all that I need,”_ Acatae’a signs, but there _is_ something else.  
  
As recompense, he had stolen away the sandwiches left for him and Akhar the night before and gorged on them for breakfast. After a sleepless night in the bar trying to teach a ghost how to sign when he can’t even voice any of the words he’s trying to teach he felt he rather deserved hogging such a treat to himself.  
  
_“The sandwiches you made,”_ he signs, a smile tugging at his mouth as he sees the Exarch’s shoulders hunch with what he suspects is embarrassment. _“They were delicious. I really appreciate it.”_  
  
The Exarch coughs into his fist, seemingly fighting a smile of his own. Acatae’a can’t be sure, given the strange blue tint to the Ocular’s lighting, but he thinks the other man might be blushing.  
  
“Is - is that right? Full glad am I to hear it. I suspected you may be too tired to prepare anything yourself, so I—well.” Lowering his hand, he gives Acatae’a an awkward and somehow familiar smile.  
  
“I am glad you enjoyed it,” he says again, his voice more even, and Acatae’a returns his smile with one of his own.  
  
_“Before I take my leave...I know you are quite capable, but be careful in Eulmore,”_ Acatae’a signs. _“There’s something not right about the city, aside from the obvious. Be especially careful of Vauthry—he acts like a child, but that makes his authority and whatever strange power he has all the more dangerous.”_  
  
As he signs, the Exarch watches his hands carefully, his smile easing into a more neutral expression as he leans on his staff.  
  
“I see,” he says when Acatae’a finishes, sounding thoughtful. “I will take your words to heart and exercise utmost caution in this. Your concern is not unwarranted, given my circumstances and the recent history of tension between the Crystarium and Eulmore.”  
  
He sounds weary—and he looks it, too, even if Acatae’a can’t see his face. Even as he straightens his posture back into one of easy confidence, Acatae’a finds himself wishing he could accompany him for this trip.  
  
“Thank you for your warning,” the Exarch continues, and though his smile is no less real than the others he has shown since Acatae’a arrived, something about it seems off. “I hope that you, too, shall be careful in the Greatwood.”  
  
_“We’ll be back before you know it,”_ Acatae’a signs. _“I had best not keep the others waiting any longer, though, so I’ll see you when we get back.”_  
  
For a moment the Exarch simply looks at him. Acatae’a wonders, thinking over the words he had used—was what he said so strange?  
  
“Yes,” the Exarch finally says, sounding quieter. “I will see you when you get back—in good health, if all is well.”  
  
Acatae’a almost wants to say something else, but what is there? When the Exarch has nothing else to say, Acatae’a swallows and takes his leave.  
  
Outside, the sun has risen high—it’ll be noon soon, he thinks as he descends from the stairs. He nods to the guard as he goes, getting a smile in return, and though his mind should be focused on the task ahead he finds himself stuck on the Crystal Exarch.  
  
And why, when makes his way towards the gate to Lakeland, a shoebill is inexplicably perched atop one of the recently constructed lamps. There are no large bodies of water for yalms around, after all.  
  
The bird looks down at him as he stares, its expression almost haughty. Bewildered, Acatae’a shakes his head and continues onward.  
  
There’s work to be done, after all.


	5. conversations in slitherbough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> akhar and minfilia talk; akhar may or may not be planning a murder.
> 
> discussions of child isolation/neglect and implications of physical abuse (re: minfilias time in eulmore)

Minfilia sits near the firepit, a look of concentration on her face as she methodically goes about enchanting Thancred’s cartridges.  
  
It doesn’t look like much. Taking each individual bullet, rolling it in her palm, then carefully slotting it into the cartridge until its full and moving on to the next round.  
  
But Akhar can feel the faint thrum of aether in the air as she does it and they wonder if it’s safe for her to do it all alone. Thancred goes through a lot of bullets, after all, and one person only has so much magic to spare—though Minfilia does seem to have plenty.  
  
Giving in to curiosity and a more selfish desire, Akhar abandons Acatae’a, who is hardly ideal company when he’s spent the last hour squinting at a crumbling scroll Y’shtola had loaned him. Y’shtola and Urianger are off doing gods knows what, and it’s Thancred’s turn to help the Blessed scout out the area for Eaters, so.  
  
Akhar makes their way towards Minfilia. She glances up towards them with a bemused sort of smile when she hears them approach, and when they sit on the log next to her she seems surprised.  
  
“How are you holding up?” Akhar asks, nodding down towards the bag by her feet, full of equipment.  
  
“I’m alright,” Minfilia says, sounding confused. “It’s not tiring work. I quite like how repetitive it is—I get a lot of time to think.”  
  
“Can you show me how?” Akhar asks, and though Minfilia seems confused by their desire she reaches into the bag for a handful of bullets and a cartridge to hand them.  
  
“It’s easy,” she says, “Kind of like attuning to an Aetheryte, but letting a bit of yourself go.”  
  
That _does_ sound easy; Akhar turns one of the bullets over in their palm, warming the cool metal with their fingers. It’s easy enough to think about Thancred—about how reckless he sometimes is, about how every time they part ways they pray and pray that they’ll find their way back to each other in one piece.  
  
_I want to fight with him when we aren’t together_ , they think. _I want to keep him safe even when I’m apart from him._  
  
The metal in their palm warms to the point almost of burning for a brief moment, and they hold it between their thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. It looks the same as it had before, but—  
  
“Wow,” Minfilia breathes beside them, shifting closer to look. “Did you mean to put so much into it?”  
  
“Not really,” Akhar admits, sheepish. “I got a bit carried away thinking about it.”  
  
“What _did_ you think about?” Minfilia asks, sounding curious, and then she immediately looks embarrassed at having asked such a thing.  
  
“Thancred, of course,” they say, unbothered. “I thought it would be nice for him to have pieces of me while we’re apart—that I might be able to protect him even when we can’t be fighting together.”  
  
Minfilia’s cheeks go pink at how honest their answer is, gaze dropping to her lap.  
  
“You really...care about him. Are you two really, um,” she fumbles, lifting the cartridge in her hand to her face and closing her eyes.  
  
“Sorry. Forget it. That’s a rude question, isn’t it?” She asks, and Akhar laughs.  
  
“No, it’s not. You’re right to be curious. I thought he’d have told sat you down and told you himself instead of letting you just wonder about it,” they say, and though they’re smiling as she peeks back up at them they’re going to have to give Thancred some shit later.  
  
“We’re together,” they say. “As partners.”  
  
Lovers seems too much for her to handle hearing; boyfriends is only slightly applicable, even if Akhar doesn’t resent being mistaken for either a man or a woman—both of which happens rather frequently, given the confusion their name causes for any familiar with Moon Keeper naming conventions.  
  
“Partners,” Minfilia repeats, and then, nervously, “I didn’t...you two didn’t fight because of me, right? Since you helped me find the heartstone…” she trails off, sounding anxious, and Akhar’s heart hurts.  
  
“Of course not,” Akhar says. “I promise he wasn’t mad—not at me and not at you. He just worries and isn’t good at expressing it. If he sounded angry or frustrated, that’s why.”  
  
Minfilia looks relieved.  
  
“Are you sure?” She asks, and Akhar gives their warmest smile.  
  
“I’m sure,” they say, reaching out to ruffle her hair. Minfilia looks stunned and delighted both, the same way she seems to get when Thancred or Urianger show her the slightest sign of physical affection—so happy, but as if she can’t believe it.  
  
They can only guess what kind of life she lived before Thancred found her. A cell, he had said she’d been in, and Akhar is going to rip Ran’jit’s throat out with their bare hands next time they meet.  
  
They don’t let that anger show, though. They can’t allow Minfilia to misunderstand and think that it might be directed at her, so they drop their hand from her hair so they can slot their first enchanted bullet into an empty cartridge and grab another.  
  
“Tell me about your journey with him so far,” they say. She seems surprised by the request. “I want to know about what I’ve missed—and about you. Is that okay?”  
  
Slowly, Minfilia smiles and does as they ask.  
  
She starts with the day she met Thancred—the day she had awoken, alone in her cell, and found it too quiet for once. How the guard was missing, and how she wondered if maybe they had finally forgotten about her—if she would be left alone in that dark room until she crumbled away like a ghost.  
  
And how, as she thought this, Thancred had appeared—a man she had never seen before, foreign and oddly dressed, with a weapon bigger than her entire body.  
  
_You have one minute to decide_ , he had said to her, and it was the first time anyone other than Ran’jit had spoken to her in longer than she could remember. _If you want to leave this place, I will take you away—far away, and Eulmore will never touch you again._  
  
She had looked at him, looking nothing like a knight or a prince from some of the books she was allowed to read. She thought of the outside world, and how all she had seen of it since childhood was the blinding white of the sky and the faint reflections of water from her cell window. She couldn’t remember what grass felt like or what the wind tasted like away from the sea.  
  
She took his hand; the first hand that had reached out to her without violence in so very long. She had no shoes and so he had carried her through the stone walls. It had been the first time she could remember being held in any way; he had been warm, his body solid against hers, and for the first time she felt like a person and not a ghost or a doll.  
  
When Minfilia tells Akhar of the way Thancred had carried her all the way to the furthest beaches, where a boat had been hidden for them, their chest aches with misery and love both. When Minfilia speaks of the way the sand had felt under her feet—hot under the eternal, blinding light that burned down on them, but pleasantly so—they have to fight the urge to take Minfilia in their own arms and cry into her hair.  
  
They manage not to do so, if only just. Minfilia talks next of her first visit to the Crystarium, and later to Il Mheg where she and Thancred stayed with Urianger and Akhar listens to it all, unable to keep from smiling as she grows more enthusiastic and expressive.  
  
_Ran’jit_ , they think as they listen to Minfilia speak of the plethora of mundane activities she had gotten to experience for the first time under Thancred’s watchful eye, _You’re going to be lucky if all I do is rip your fucking throat out._


	6. get some sleep while you can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> because in like 4 hours youre going to wake up and eulmore is gonna be on its bullshit sending sin eaters all over lakeland :/ 
> 
> haha.........anyway.........i was going to write akhar & emet selch having banter in the greatwood but take this for now. i will write that eventually

Returning to the Crystarium feels, at this point, a little like coming home—rather like how Acatae’a feels when returning to the Rising Stones. It’s a pleasant thing, as is the way the Exarch and Alphinaud meet them in the square.  
  
What isn’t so pleasant is the way the Exarch seems to barely be keeping himself upright. When he nearly collapses, Acatae’a grabs him by the shoulder to keep him steady—the Exarch goes stiff as Acatae’a helps him, but doesn’t push his hand away, and so Acatae’a keeps his fingers curled into the thick fabric of his cloak; Alphinaud, who had moved to help the Exarch as well, glances up at Acatae’a with surprise.  
  
Alphinaud’s following suggestion to reconvene on the morrow is a welcome one. They’re all tired—even Akhar, after days of running frantically about the Greatwood, looks ready to fall asleep where they’re leaning against Thancred’s arm.  
  
“Very well, then,” the Exarch sighs, trying to straighten his posture. “We will discuss all that has happened—on all our ends—after a night of rest.”  
  
Most of the others leave; Acatae’a lingers, loosening his grip on the Exarch’s shoulder but not letting go, and the Exarch turns his head slightly towards him with something like a smile tugging at his mouth.  
  
“You needn’t trouble yourself, friend. I assure you I am quite fine,” he says, and though Acatae’a suspects otherwise he withdraws his hand.  
  
Before he can sign anything, the Exarch straightens himself, seeming very much as though he would like to have his staff to lean on.  
  
“If you will accompany me to the Ocular, we may continue our discussion from when we saw each other last,” he continues, and Acatae’a wants to say that isn’t why he neglected to leave with Akhar and Thancred. His sleeping arrangements had been entirely forgotten in the face of his concern.  
  
Still, he gives a nod and follows the Exarch to the looming Tower; the guard at the steps looks slightly surprised to see Acatae’a but says nothing as the Exarch leads him inside.  
  
“I am afraid to say I was unable to prepare lodgings more suitable,” the Exarch says when the door is sealed tight behind them. “And after the...ordeal that was your journey, I am loathe to take what time Akhar and Thancred might have alone together away from them. And so…”  
  
The Exarch trails off—despite the fact he’s holding himself quite casually, Acatae’a can’t help but feel as though he may as well be wringing his hands together.  
  
The Exarch clears his throat, hood obscuring his expression.  
  
“I have prepared some bedding here in the Tower, if you should like. I can try to speak with Lyna after our meeting tomorrow to see about something in the Barracks, if you would prefer, but at least you—and your sibling—shall be afforded a measure of privacy. The room I prepared was empty of all but old research papers, and so it is quite safe—”  
  
He’s rambling. Acatae’a smiles, finding the behavior familiarly endearing, before he lifts his hands with his palms spread out to get the Exarch’s attention. He quiets immediately, looking towards him.  
  
_“I don’t mind,”_ he signs slowly. _“Really. If you’re okay with me being here, then I’ll gladly take you up on the offer.”_  
  
In truth, the idea of sleeping within the Tower makes him somewhat uncomfortable—not because he doubts the safety of any rooms the Exarch has checked, but because this place brings with it memories of someone he had thought he’d moved on from.  
  
But Acatae’a thinks the Exarch might be relieved; he certainly seems to relax, if just barely.  
  
“Very well. I can arrange for your things to be brought from the Pendants,” he starts saying, but Acatae’a shakes his head.  
  
_“I can do it tomorrow,”_ he signs. _“No need to trouble anyone about it. It’s late.”_  
  
“Are you certain?” The Exarch asks, frowning at him, and when Acatae’a nods and gives the sign for _very sure_ , he sighs.  
  
“Right then. Through here,” he says, and gestures towards part of the wall. Acatae’a follows him as he steps towards it, watching the way the Exarch drags his crystal hand along some of the gold-lined ridges on the wall. A space opens, a door that Acatae’a hadn’t even seen with how thoroughly it blended into the wall being pushed back.  
  
The light inside is dimmer than that of the Ocular, more gold-hued than blue; it is, true to the Exarch’s word, full of a seemingly endless stack of papers written in the language of Allag, a stray stack of odd tomestones, and a bed not unlike those in the Pendants.  
  
“I apologize for being unable to clean it beforehand,” the Exarch starts, but Acatae’a shakes his head at him.  
  
_“It’s fine. It’s just papers and all I intend to do is sleep, anyway.”_ The Exarch seems only somewhat reassured by his words, still strangely on edge. Is he so averse to Acatae’a’s presence, despite his offer of a place here?  
  
“If you are certain,” the Exarch relents. “I keep somewhat odd hours, but you needn’t be worried about being woken—the soundproofing within the Tower is quite efficient. If you need anything at all, please let me know.”  
  
_“I will,”_ Acatae’a signs. _“I know you have much to do, but let yourself sleep tonight as well. I know you’re unwell,”_ he adds, moving his hands more sharply than usual when the Exarch opens his mouth to protest.  
  
“Healers,” the Exarch mutters without genuine bite, reaching up to adjust his hood. “Very well. I make no promises about sleep, but I will at least lay down. Your concern is appreciated, dear Warrior.”  
  
_“That’s all I ask,”_ Acatae’a signs, not letting himself get stuck on _dear warrior_.  
  
“I shall leave you to your sleep, then, unless there is anything else you might need…?” The Exarch trails off, looking towards him, and Acatae’a shakes his head.  
  
_“I’m fine. Let us both get some rest,”_ he signs, and the Exarch smiles.  
  
“In that case, I will take my leave. May sleep find you well,” he says.  
  
When Acatae’a finds himself alone in the room, closing the door as the Exarch leaves him, he drags a hand through his hair and exhales shakily. His throat aches and he wishes he could have sat the Exarch down and looked at him properly—but he knows he would have been staunchly refused, given how uncomfortable the Exarch seemed when Acatae’a so much as held his shoulder.  
  
Even knowing that—and knowing that there is likely nothing Acatae’a could do for him, given that his condition is likely to be related to his journey away from the Tower—he still wishes.  
  
As he props his staff against the edge of the bed and shoves his knives beneath the pillows, Acatae’a wonders not only about the Crystal Exarch, but of another.  
  
_Are you there?_ He thinks as he lets his gaze drag across the crystal walls and their gold veins. _Are you still sleeping here, G’raha Tia?_  
  
There’s no answer to his thoughts, of course. Even if he could voice them he’s sure he would hear nothing but the faint vibration that seems to hum through the Tower walls.  
  
He doesn’t let himself dwell on it further. Not now, when he’s so tired, when there is so much to be done in the morning.  
  
He had discussed it with Akhar already and they’ll talk about it again in the future. When things are more settled here in the First, they can broach the subject of searching the Tower with the Exarch.  
  
For now, shedding out of his clothes and climbing into bed, he lets himself try to find sleep.


End file.
